


A Thread Of Time

by SwagginOnADragon (verhalen)



Series: The Three-Headed Dragon [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Bisexual Jon Snow, Brother/Brother Incest, F/M, Game of Thrones Spoilers, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Multi, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, OT3, Polyamory, R Plus L Equals J, Short One Shot, Triad - Freeform, Uncle/Nephew Incest, the three heads of the dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 16:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18920881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/SwagginOnADragon
Summary: Set afterA Serenade Of Summer, may want to read that one first.In Pentos, Griff tells Jon something he knew about Jon's mother.





	A Thread Of Time

The manse was a short walk from the sea, and at sunset, Griff often liked to carry his harp down to the beach and play there, watching the waves. Sometimes he liked privacy, to be able to sit and compose songs in his mind. Sometimes he was fine with performing. Jon loved to hear Griff play, and watch those graceful hands pluck the strings. Griff had a beautiful voice when he sang, especially when he sang in High Valyrian.  
  
But tonight, Griff did not bring the harp with him. Jon still came; he liked Griff's company. They just sat together in the sand, looking out at the water for awhile. At last Jon took his hand, the one with the scarred palm, and his thumb ran over the scar.  
  
"You never did tell me how you got this scar."  
  
"You never asked." Their eyes met briefly, and then Griff looked back out at the ocean.  
  
"Well, we didn't have a lot of time, a few months ago. We have time now."  
  
A few moments of silence passed, and then, "My hand was burned when I took an oath."  
  
"To the Red God?"  
  
"...Yes."  
  
Jon nodded. "I haven't known many of his followers, but one of them, the Red Woman..."  
  
"Melisandre."  
  
"The one who helped us in the battle against the Night King, aye. She burned a child alive."  
  
"That's terrible." Griff brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. "There are, in any religion, good and bad people. People who use the name of their gods to justify doing shitty things. The god that I serve, does not demand the ashes of children for his offerings."  
  
"That's a relief. I hadn't thought you were that extreme, but."  
  
"No. My god is a god of life. To burn an innocent child in his name is blasphemy."  
  
"How did you get into all of that?"  
  
"I traveled a lot. To keep safe and all. So much seeing the world I got sick of it. You don't know how good it is to settle down, here in Pentos, with you and Dany. Have _a real home_."

Jon ached for him.

"Anyway, I spent a fair amount of time in Essos and... when the truth of my heritage was revealed to me... I thought it might be a good idea to have the Flame Imperishable on my side. Maybe learn some magic, strike fear into my enemies if necessary."  
  
"Makes sense. At least you got to see the world. I just got to see the Wall, thinking I was a damn bastard."  
  
"I know." Griff patted him, and pulled Jon towards him, letting his younger brother-lover lean on him, petting his curls. "I wish our paths had crossed far sooner. But it is what it is. We're here now."  
  
They sat in silence some more, and Jon had another question. "You had mentioned an uncle Oberyn. I met him once a long time ago, when he was visiting Winterfell. Did he know?"  
  
"No. He didn't. Not about me, anyway."  
  
Jon found that a curious answer.  
  
Griff played with a stray lock of Jon's hair. "I was sent to him to learn how to fight, when I was on my way to becoming a man. Before I went to Braavos to learn how to kill with the Faceless Men.  I had to be very careful of who I told anything to, and even a close blood relative was too much of a risk. I heard, awhile back, he got killed in a duel with Gregor Clegane, who they called the Mountain. Died screaming vengeance for my mother and her children. But Clegane only got to kill my mother, as our nanny smuggled us out when they came for us. And I wish I'd been able to tell my uncle, 'I'm right here. I'm still alive.' He might still be alive now, if he knew."  
  
"Oh, Griff." Jon looked up, and frowned at the sadness in those silver-violet eyes. "You can't blame yourself." He kissed Griff's cheek.  
  
"He was a good man. I looked up to him quite a lot." Griff looked down. "I was... infatuated with him."  
  
"I kind of assumed  _that_  from some things you've hinted at."  
  
Griff gave a little smile. "He was... fun. A lot of fun."  
  
"I bet."  
  
"He was also... informative." Griff tilted his face to look at Jon. "He grieved his sister terribly and he told me something about her, that he swore me to keep a secret, but now... you should know, Jon."  
  
"All right."  
  
Griff looked back out at the water, and then turned his entire body so he could face Jon, and took Jon's hands in his. "Your mother, my mother, and our father... were lovers. All three of them."  
  
Jon's face burned. His jaw dropped, not knowing what to say about that.  
  
"Yes, Jon, my mother and your mother loved each other as two women, the way you and I love each other as two men. The Dornish, as you know, have no problem with such love. Your mother's folk do, so she couldn't possibly tell anyone, least of all when Robert Baratheon was making advances."  
  
"It feels like it's in our blood to be this way with each other... not just as Targaryens, but because our mothers loved each other as well."  
  
"It does." Griff gave him a gentle kiss. Then he went on. "My mother and our father were married first. But when your mother was pregnant... my mother asked to have their marriage annulled, so he could marry your mother, so the child  _wouldn't_  be a bastard. And because an unwed mother, as my mother then was following the annulment, is not disparaged in Dorne the way it would be where your mother's folk come from, in the North."  
  
"That's..." Jon took a deep breath. "That's a lot."  
  
"So the irony here is that my mother made a sacrifice for your mother so you wouldn't be a bastard... and then she died after giving birth to you and you were raised to believe yourself a bastard."  
  
Jon put his face in his hands. Griff wrapped his arms around Jon and rocked him to the rhythm of the rolling tide.   
  
"That hurts  _so much._ "  
  
"I know, love," Griff soothed, stroking his curls. He pressed a kiss to the top of Jon's head. "I know."  
  
Jon picked his face up, and Griff pulled him into a kiss. A sweet, soft one, and then one that was all the fire of their blood. Jon moaned into the kiss, and again when Griff's scarred palm passed over the scar on his heart, feeling the heat dance between them.  
  
"The way we love each other, and love Dany, honors the memory of the way they loved each other. It keeps their love alive, in spirit." Griff pulled Jon to his feet then. "Let's go home, and the three of us can remember the three of them."  
  
Dany was waiting for them at the red door, embracing and kissing each of them in turn. She stood between them, taking their hands in hers, and led them to their bedroom, the large bed the three shared. As the sunset became twilight and the first star of evening sparkled in the sky, they made a wish with their bodies, the deep magic of their love.  
  
 _Always. Now and forever._


End file.
